


Blue with White Tigers

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Attachment Styles, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Tender - Freeform, soft, the robe from season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28746567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Prompt: Eve wearing Villanelle's robe from season 2.A one-shot wherein Eve is anxiously attached and really cute and sad and needy.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 22
Kudos: 108





	Blue with White Tigers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [czechTexan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/czechTexan/gifts).



> This piece . . . omg. This gave me the worst writer's block, back in November. I thought it would never get done, but I persisted in trying to find a way to make this interesting and visual--as much as possible. Let me know what you think. And thanks so much for reading! x

Villanelle is usually only gone for two or three days at a time. Two or three, in which she flies out to Berlin or Moscow or Paris and completes her mission, then comes back to their residence in London.

It’s different, this time.

“ _Six_ days?” Eve asks, following Villanelle to the front door.

“Eve,” Villanelle says. She situates her leather duffel bag over her shoulder and crosses her arms. “You say that as if we weren’t chasing each other down for the past three years.”

The insinuation that Eve shouldn’t be upset or worried or _whatever_ she feels hits her in the gut. “Who . . . Why China?” she asks, trying to redirect the conversation.

Villanelle straightens her posture. “Fat Panda made a mess. One that _they_ didn’t know about, till now. That’s . . .” her voice softens, “That’s all I can say about it, Eve. Six days.” She gives a reassuring raise of her eyebrows.

Six days. Eve could handle six days to herself, right? Villanelle is right; this isn’t new. So, why does it feel impossibly long, when the clock hasn’t even started ticking, yet? Eve stares off into the distance and her breathing constricts and she dwells on the passing of time.

“Eve.” Villanelle notices Eve is lost and steps in front of her, lifting Eve’s chin; bringing Eve’s eyes up from the floor to meet her own. “You won’t even have time to miss me. Just keep yourself busy. Focus on your job, all intensely, like you used to.” She teases Eve with a smirk.

Eve’s eyes water, and she can’t even stop them. “My job was to focus on _you_ ,” she chokes out.

Villanelle’s face falls and she pulls Eve closer to herself. She doesn’t know why this is bothering Eve, so much, but it makes her chest tight with worry. She tucks Eve’s head under her chin and rests her hand on top of Eve’s soft curls. “Promise me you’ll be okay,” she pleads.

Eve still doesn’t know why it sounds like such a long time or why her body feels heavy with sadness, and the uncertainty around her own emotions only makes matters worse, threatening to bring her to tears.

She nods against Villanelle, all the same, then sighs and drops her forehead to Villanelle’s shoulder.

“Please text me, when you can. Just let me know you’re alright.” Eve doesn’t know what else she wants to ask for.

“Of course. I love you, Eve.” It’s a murmur. A nervous one. Trying to provide comfort, but so accustomed to being the one who is being comforted.

Eve feels the attempt to sooth. She feels it in her skin, and under Villanelle’s hands, and in the shaky whisper that Villanelle breathed between them. She’s grateful, and she feels like she can let go.

“I love you, too.” Eve lifts her head and kisses Villanelle softly. And then she lets Villanelle through the door and locks it behind her.

**

The first day is the easiest. Eve calls her parents, since she procrastinated after missing her mother’s call, a week and a half ago. Then, she cleans the bathroom and runs the dishwasher and does her laundry. She sighs with relief when Villanelle’s text comes through, stating that she made it to her destination. She watches a few episodes of a Korean drama and then goes to bed.

The second day is similar. She visits two grocery stores: the grocery store down the street, and the nearby Asian market. Her extensive lists for each eat away at hours of the day. She plans a welcome-home meal for Villanelle, finishes the Korean drama she started, and then declutters her office.

The third day is like a blur that threatens to pull her into a void. Her alarm clock pulls her out of sleep during a nightmare, and she instinctively reaches across the bed to find Villanelle’s sleeping figure. She remembers that Villanelle is _gone_ when her arm hits the cold side of the bed. The loneliness of the experience gives her an aching sensation, as if the nightmare haunts her for the rest of the day. She works from home. When Carolyn calls, she asks Eve if she is alright.

The fourth day is where things really go awry.

Eve wakes up on a government holiday in which she’s not expected to work. She rubs her eyes and wonders how she will survive another day by her lonesome.

She lifts her heavy limbs from the bed and makes herself breakfast. She believes she is handling everything well—till tears start to fall, as she bites into her piece of toast. 

She doesn’t know why she cries, so she paws at her tear-stained cheeks with the sides of her hands and abandons her half-eaten breakfast out of frustration towards herself.

_I’ll go for a walk_ , she resolves, and heads upstairs to change.

She goes upstairs and makes her way into the walk-in closet, not even bothering to witness her own tear-stained face in the mirrors she passes, on the way. She decides that she will wear a jacket on over the t-shirt she’s wearing (the same one she slept in), and she shuffles through hangers on the far side of the closet to find some leggings. She locates them toward the back of the closet, lazily thrown over a hanger. But a pattern even further back catches her eye.

It’s a robe—Villanelle’s robe. She has only seen Villanelle wear it once. It is navy blue and has white tigers on it.

Eve pries it from its hanger in the back of the closet and examines the silky print up close. It reminds her of simpler times. It’s nostalgic; she didn’t _have_ Villanelle, back then, but she wanted her so badly. She longed for her. She did everything she could to ensure that she would see Villanelle again and again. And it was all worthwhile, according to Eve, because now she shares a beautiful house and a beautiful life with Villanelle.

Eve pulls the robe up to her face and sniffs the collar, curious if there is a ghost of perfume or of Villanelle’s shampoo that lingers. She is surprised that it does smell like Villanelle, even though the robe has been abandoned for so long: she’s never seen Villanelle wear it, again, since they’ve been together. The collar smells like Villanelle’s skin. It smells the way that a drawer full of Villanelle’s clothes would smell. It just smells like _her._

Eve holds it in her hands for a moment, and then she tosses her leggings onto the floor and hurriedly pulls the robe over her shoulders.

_It’s so soft_ , Eve thinks, and she wonders if it’s expensive. She walks over to the mirror and looks at herself, and she discovers that the silk hugs her body perfectly. The way the sleeves flare is beautiful on her arms, and the white sash is pristine. She smells Villanelle’s scent, and now she feels how she imagines Villanelle must feel, always being draped in finery.

Eventually, she lets the robe slip back off of her shoulders and she lays it (almost reverently) at the foot of the bed, so she can come back to it, later. She changes into the leggings and goes for a walk.

**

Eve returns home, and she feels more energized and optimistic. She makes herself a fresh piece of toast and even adds a scrambled egg. She smiles when she bites into the toast, this time, because she realizes that there are only a couple of days left before Villanelle will be back. And having Villanelle back means Villanelle’s cooking—Villanelle’s breakfast, prepared exactly how Eve likes it.

Eve’s recollection fill her with warmth, and she shovels the last few bites of toast into her mouth before heading upstairs. She decides to run herself a bath; it is something that will soothe her emotions after all of this . . . _whatever_ she’s going through, and she imagines that the warmth of the water will relax her from the outside, in.

It does.

Eve soaks for as long as she can. When her back gets tired, she sits up in the tub and hugs her knees to her chest. It reminds her of a dark, dark chapter in her life, when she wasn’t sure if she’d killed Villanelle, when she stabbed her. Eve honors the memory and revels in the gratitude that Villanelle is not only alive, but also _hers_. Forever.

Eve drains the bath and pulls on a towel and walks out into the cool air of the bedroom, and oh—the robe.

The robe.

She forgot it was there.

Eve brings the robe to her face, again, and _yes_ —she smells Villanelle. The scent seems even stronger, now.

Eve abandons her towel, letting it fall onto the carpet. She pulls the robe on again and ties the sash.

Then, without really intending to, she flops down onto her side of the bed. She hugs the robe; she hugs herself. She imagines hugging Villanelle.

When the moment passes, she rolls over onto her side and closes her eyes. The optimism, the food, the bath, the robe, the hug—it all soothes her. And she’s off of work, anyway, so she decides to let herself succumb to the lull of sleep and revel in the peace she feels. She tucks her knees in, a little, and she brings one of the sleeves up to her face so that she can continue to carry the scent of Villanelle into her sleeping state. She falls asleep almost immediately.

**

Villanelle unlocks the door.

She tosses her boots into the laundry room and then goes to the kitchen, expecting Eve to be there.

Eve isn’t.

Villanelle realizes that Eve is probably in her office. She finds that the office is empty.

She’s about to call out Eve’s name—almost in a rushed, impatient, loud sort of way. But then, she sees that the bedroom door is cracked and the light is on.

Villanelle pushes the door open, slowly, and then she sees.

She sees Eve. She sees her own robe draped over Eve. She sees Eve gripping onto the sleeve, even in sleep, resting the silk against her nose, as though she fell asleep while trying to smell it.

_Oh_. It’s sweet and delicate and precious, this image.

Villanelle feels immensely grateful that she made it home early.

Her face softens, and her eyes glisten, and she wants to take a picture, but she can’t bring herself to waste any time.

She thinks of the plane ride home from China and takes off her trousers and blazer, tossing them onto the floor. She’s left in a v-neck t-shirt and her undergarments.

She carefully climbs into bed, hoping that she won’t wake Eve. She slowly shuffles herself closer and closer to Eve. Then, she puts her hand around Eve’s shoulder. She feels the warmth of Eve’s sleeping body under the soft silk. When Eve doesn’t startle, Villanelle slots herself in closer and closer until she’s holding Eve against her chest.

Eve just feels warmer and warmer and warmer in her sleep—and then her eyes open.

Eve gasps.

Eve smells Villanelle, all around her, now. She wonders if her body is being constricted, but then she realizes she’s just being held, and the gasp quickly turns to an exhale of relief.

Villanelle brushes her thumb over Eve’s temple.

“You’re back,” Eve whispers, her voice still heavy with sleep. She thinks about what day it is and then jolts, proclaiming, “You’re early!”

“Shhh,” Villanelle soothes because she wants Eve to stay in her arms, like this. “I’m early,” she confirms. “I’ve never worked faster in my life.”

Eve smiles, delighted. She just wants to be sure—“You came home early for me?”

Villanelle looks into Eve’s eyes and finds that they’re warm and sparkling.

“Yes,” Villanelle says. “I went in, got the target, and then turned around and came home. For you.”

Villanelle’s eyes fall to her robe, to the way it hugs the gentle curves of Eve’s body.

“That’s so nice on you,” Villanelle says. She lets her fingers trail over the collar.

Eve had nearly forgotten.

“Oh!” Eve’s gaze follows Villanelle’s, landing on the robe. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind. I was just thinking of you and I—”

“Keep it,” Villanelle interrupts. She smiles. “Suits you.” Her eyes flicker down and then up. “Beautiful.” She tucks a curl behind Eve’s ear.

The words sound so velvety on Villanelle’s tongue, and Eve doesn’t even try to suppress the urge to crash their lips together. Eve pulls her in and kisses her, welcoming her home and trying to express how much she was missed, without words.

But Eve finds that she needs to use words, sometimes.

“It smells like you,” Eve breathes.

Villanelle smiles unbelievably wide because she was right to believe that Eve was sleeping with the sleeve up against her face for that reason. Villanelle kisses Eve’s forehead and then hugs her, and she settles in for a moment before her face falls with worry.

“What’s wrong, Eve?” Villanelle asks, gently.

“Hmm?”

“You were sad. You were sad when I left. Were you still sad, after?—Or the past few days?”

Eve doesn’t draw back to look at Villanelle because she feels like she can’t, right now. She doesn’t want to tell Villanelle about her nightmare, or how Carolyn checked on her, or how she cried while eating breakfast.

She’s quiet for a bit, and then she responds, “I need you,” stated so simply that it almost doesn’t feel like they are her own words.

“I am here,” Villanelle says, matter-of-fact.

“I _need_ you,” Eve says, again. Her breathing picks up the slightest bit, and she grasps onto the cotton of Villanelle’s shirt. “I need you, baby. I need you.”

Villanelle pulls Eve close and secure. It feels different and new—the sensation of being _needed_. But she doesn’t want Eve to suffer the pain of needing (something Villanelle knows all too well).

Eve continues on. “You don’t get it, baby, I _need you_.” She’s overwhelmed with it. She feels like she could cry—she wants to cry, preferably right here, into Villanelle’s shirt.

“ _Eve_ ,” Villanelle soothes. “I’ll never leave you, Eve.”

Villanelle has never said these words before, never made promises to anyone. She means what she says.

“I’m always with you, Eve. You’ll always have me.”

Eve buries her face in Villanelle’s chest and listens and exists, hearing the words tangle with the steady rhythm of Villanelle’s heartbeat.

“I’m right here, Eve. You’re mine, Eve. I love you.”

Eve lets out a breath and allows Villanelle’s embrace to pull her back under, into the quiet hum of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> To me, a lot of this kind of feels how quarantine feels... (Yes, I've been home since March.) Did you get a quarantine feel from it?


End file.
